


Broken (Spoiled)

by greybird



Category: A List of Cages - Robin Roe
Genre: :(, Adopted Children, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Catherine is a Good Mom, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First In The Fandom, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loss of Parent(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rare Fandoms, and its gonna be sad but like, and she keeps him safe, as usual greybird smh, because ya boi greybird can't let go of the book, half of these tags are just me rambling, it gets lonely being the only one in a fandom, just that Good Platonic Family Stuff tm, like Julian gets there and he's gonna be scared, poor julian, roe never really addressed his trauma like this, so i just... had to write this, thats a lot of tags for one thing, there wasn't enough comfort at the end of the book okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greybird/pseuds/greybird
Summary: Julian's back from the hospital, but surgeons and nurses can't heal the broken place in his mind that echos with snaps and shouting.Now that Catherine has custody of him, he's grateful to be away from Russel, but Julian can't stop thinking about all the little things, all the little mistakes he makes that must build up over time. This one, this mistake, he thinks-- might be the last one she tolerates.(But Catherine loves him more than a broken glass from the cupboard)
Relationships: Catherine Blake & Julian Harlow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15
Collections: Rare fandoms





	Broken (Spoiled)

**Author's Note:**

> So, somehow, you stumbled across this rare fic created by me at midnight. Somehow, some way, sometime, you found the only fic in this fandom, and you opened it, probably without knowing squat about the book. That's okay, you really don't need to. The tags and context give you all you need. I just came to thank you, to pat you on the back for joining me in this moment in this minuscule fandom. If you feel like it, if you're the kind of person who looks for rare fandoms, come along and see my other works. Otherwise, I'm glad you came here. Have a cup of tea and take this nice, short, obscure family hurt/comfort fic and be on your way.

The glass drops. And shatters. 

Julian watches as it happens. He feels a vacuum open under his lungs, stopping his heart as it steals his breath. His hands go numb, his ears ring and his eyes are trained on the shards splayed in one large broken circle of beautiful white, which resembles snow; cold and sharp and punishing on bare feet. 

Julian’s fingers twitch. Numbly, in the far corner at the back of his mind he wonders how it happened. He doesn’t know how it happened. He dosen’t know what he did wrong, what he could have done to stop it from happening, because one moment he’s reaching for the cupboard for a glass of water, and the next it’s all on the floor. Broken.  _ Spoiled.  _

He drops to his knees. His lips part to let a shallow breath through, the ghost of a scream he can’t quite conjure in the deafening static in his mind. Suddenly his throat jerks, and he swallows hard. Julian reaches out his hands, getting the strange and vague sense that nothing is real, this isn’t real and he’s not real. Hints of red start to pool in the fabric of his light-colored grey jeans where he kneels on the glass. 

Julian’s lips start to tremble. His eyes narrow, his vision blurs. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

He collapses forward into his hands, elbows and forehead pressed to the tile. Shoulders shaking, chest heaving, Julian scrunches up into a tight ball and stays. The world around him falls away and now it’s just him, just spoiled little Julian, and the glass, his horrible horrible mistake. Just him and his _ lack of respect  _ and Russel’s voice. How could he be so  _ careless _ ? 

Catherine has been nothing but kind and patient since he got to her house--  _ her house _ \-- from the hospital.  _ This is how I repay her? This is my “thank you”?  _ Julian spirals in his head, looking down and down and down into his palms and into memories of all the things he’s done wrong and all the small mistakes he’s made since he got here and he thinks about how this is it, this is the final mistake, the final sin, the last slip-up before Catherine can’t bear him anymore and either sends him away, or has to resort to, to… to… 

There’s a gasp. It’s sharp. It’s not his own. It cuts through the noise in his mind and he stills, he pays attention, he waits with a deepening feeling of gut-wrenching dread and hopelessness and misery and  _ guilt,  _ waits for the yelling to come, waits to be grabbed off the floor, waits with breath hitching and hands shaking like he’s got a fever for his back to cut open and sting. 

“Julian, what-” Footsteps echo throughout the kitchen, panicked and hurried, and he jerks in a flinch when Catherine gets to his side. “I- Julian, what are you doing? You’re hurt, you’re bleeding, why are you sitting in the glass? Come here, come on, stand up.” 

When he opens his mouth to answer  _ (I asked you a question)  _ all he can manage is a small, pitiful cry.  _ Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes-  _

Catherine pulls him to his feet, and seems to notice the glass in his hands, on his head, the bright red on the floor. Her voice goes quiet. “Julian, darling,” she murmurs. “What’s going on?”

Now the words come rushing out, jumbled up and run together in broken strings, messy and horrible and heavy. He can’t open his eyes as he speaks. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, I-I-I, I, I broke, br-roke, I, hnn, m’sorry, m’so sorry, m’so  _ sorry _ , please don’t, don-n’t, please don’t h- hur- hnn, hnn,  _ m’sorry, please” _ \-- Catherine slides her arm over his shoulders and lets him lean on her when he wavers on his legs-- “Please don’t be, a-angry,  _ please _ -”

“Julian.” 

The boy bites his lip immediately and tears slip down his cheeks. 

But the voice is quiet, gentle. “Julian, sweetheart…” She hugs him now, pulling his quivering body of skin and bones close to her, tucks his head under her chin. She brushes a hand softly through his hair, sweeps the black fringe out of his eyes, keeps it there. “I’m not- I’m not. I’m not angry, not at all. This was an accident, it’s  _ okay _ .” She can see he’s still in his head, she can feel that same dread in her own stomach, the heart-aching, twisting kind, and her own eyes prick at the sides with tears. “Oh, Julian… Julian, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He doesn’t answer but clings to her still, sniffing jerkily and trying to stifle the sobs, trying desperately and flailing to force it all back down into the box, into the trunk, the shell, the shell… he hates crying, hates it, hates that it’s happening here, in front of her, with someone else there and seeing it.

“Honey,” she whispers, brushes her hand over his shoulders. “I need you to follow me, I’ll get you all cleaned up and we’ll talk about it. Sound okay?”

A small nod is pressed into her shoulder, and she helps the boy walk with her over to the bathroom around the corner. She gestures to the counter and, shakily, he jumps to sit there, eyes cast down and away from her. 

The warmth of the towel washes over his hand first, and Catherine asks if it’s too hot, and he curtly shakes his head. 

After a minute, she murmurs something soft under her breath. “We might… need to take you to a doctor, sweetheart. This is more than splinters and tweezers, I’m afraid.” 

Julian winces. “I-I’m r-really oh-okay, I don’t need, I’m sorry, I don’t w-want to, to cause, you, any t-trouble, I didn’t m-mean, mean to-” 

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s alright.” Carefully, she takes his hand, sweeps her thumb over the backs of his fingers. “It’s not a problem, really. I know you didn’t mean to. I’ll just clean up the blood, the loose shards, and then you can go lie down while I call in. That okay?” 

He shuts his eyes tight, bites his lip, lets out a shallow sigh. “Yeah.” 

“Okay. We’ll do that then.” The cloth washes over his other hand and then his cheek, and he leans into the gentle touch with a hard swallow. Catherine leaves it there for a moment longer. “It’s okay, I promise,” she whispers. “You were just scared, I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad.”


End file.
